


konstantine (with a k)

by pavvlove



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Detailed Depictions of Eating Disorder(s), Detailed Depictions of Self Harm, Dysfunctional Relationships, Graphic Depictions of Illness, M/M, Mental Instability, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Suicide Attempt, Toxic Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:15:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28672104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pavvlove/pseuds/pavvlove
Summary: "i'm not your star." he said. and now joe has to live with all of the hell that he's put pete through.
Relationships: Joe Trohman/Pete Wentz
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. chapter one

as far as he can remember, joe has thankfully never had a seizure in his life. so, he doesn’t really know what goes on during one. but he’s heard that it’s not uncommon for someone to hear a heavy ringing in their ears; like a bad case of tinnitus, but all at once to the point where it’s painful.

so, that's what he imagines he's hearing now. except he doesn't think he's having a seizure- he doesn't feel like he's lost control of his muscles and bodily functions. he’s just struggling- struggling to keep consciousness.

"joe?" a soft male voice asks as he struggles to break through the barrier between consciousness and unconsciousness. there's something wet on the side of his head and he feels like he's being slung around on a tilt-a-whirl to the point where his stomach begins to turn. this feels like a completely different realm; like the twilight zone that’s so famed in cbs specials.  
"joey, come on, you're freaking me out. i get it, i’m sorry.” the voice continues. it’s so familiar, but in a bitter-sweet sort of way. it’s overwhelming. it’s calming. it flows so smoothly through his brain, reminding him that he’s not alone in this speck of the universe..

-pete? is that you? 

/

i was always the loudest of my friends; the rowdy metalhead kid who was more than likely to go on and start a band than anything else. seventeen and invincible, handing out zines in the cold pouring rain on a sidewalk in chicago as it soaked through holey vans. i had somehow convinced my parents to let me live with some of my older friends in town and thought i was living by my own rules. it was so liberating through the summer, but winter was hitting hard and i had never realized just how young i was and felt so ungrounded.

that was the night i finally met you; local celebrity and activist. breaking hearts was like a hobby to you, as you flew by and by, effortlessly capturing the vulnerability of your lovers, male or female. you were so cool- you were one of my idols. but you were suddenly so soft. you looked so small and shaken, shivering in the rain and clearly developing a cold. i had to let it go right then and there.

i take you back to my apartment. i somehow catch eleven eleven and make a wish. i miss having you in my living room. this was supposed to last forever.

/

when joe opens his eyes, his brain lags behind as the paramedic tightens the cuff that’s around his arm and shines a light in his face, saying words that he doesn’t understand to her partner. for a second, he experiences what it’s like to be vegetative and non-lucid. it’s something he would rather have continued to experience as he realizes that his former idol is by his side, holding his hand and sobbing. he can’t lie his way out of this one. apparently this is in fact real and he can't explain it, nor can he remember when pete stopped being so mad at him that he never wanted to see him again. why is he here? *where* is here?

the ambulance is sterile - the peroxide that's dabbed onto his aching head takes him back to the night that he begged pete to bleach his hair because blondes have more fun, or whatever. it made more sense to him that he was drunk. he just wanted a change. 

"never saw you as the blonde type." pete says as he mixes the powder and developer concoction. it's blue and kind of an overwhelming scent that resembles ammonia. joe's eyes follow pete's flicking wrist; it's covered in cuts at various depths and stages of healing, going all the way up his arm. he bites his tongue and takes a drink of the beer in his hand. 

"yeah. me either..”

/ 

it was me and the moon until i got that call. star sixty-seven and desperation. i can't believe i said what i said to you- i wish i could take it back, i wish that i had thought before i spoke. i sat outside on my mom’s front porch, freezing my ass off and replaying everything in my head. i met you at such a low point in my life; when i realized that maybe my life wasn’t going to turn out the way that i had planned for. when i realized that being in the public eye just wasn’t going to work out for me. i wandered out onto the streets when my roommate locked me out of the apartment to get laid and that’s when i saw you. full of energy and ninety pounds soaking wet. i didn’t realize just how pathetic i looked until you asked me if i was okay, and insisted that i went back to your place. i was impressed by the fact that you lived on your own at seventeen with a few roommates. my teenage self would have definitely been jealous.

i had wished on a falling star the night before, and now that i think i’ve achieved that wish, i can finally share it. it was stability, more or less. just knowing what i was doing with myself. i had that with you. at least, i wanted to. i wished for it every night from that point on. even when you would take me home and lay next to me so that i wouldn’t lose my mind, i was wishing on a star as you buried your face in my chest. 

i just... i really hated the fact that you would always shut down when it come to confrontation on any level; whether it be where we stood in our relationship, any conflict in whatever we had and especially when i tried to mention that what you had been doing to yourself wasn’t healthy.

but then again, i truly have no room to talk- you’ve seen the aftermath of when i’ve freaked out several times. i know it isn’t pretty. but despite our faults, you stuck around somehow, or you were never far behind.

but you’re laying here in an ambulance, fingers entwined with mine as i watch a tear roll down your cheek. i’ve never felt so guilty in my life. i wish things were different. i'm so, so, so tremendously sorry.

/  
pete sits on the living room floor, a secondhand bass in his hand as he attempts to follow along with the tab laying in front of him. learning bass has proved to be much harder than he originally thought, but he’s willing to ride it out for now until he gets bored and decides to move on to the next big thing. he hears the front door open in a moment of high distractibility and looks up to see joe take off his jacket and throw it on the arm of the couch in front of pete, following it up by throwing himself on the couch and rolling over to face pete.

“hi.” pete says, opening the door for a potential conversation. playing bass can wait for right now.

“hey.” joe holds his hand out, inviting pete to take advantage and interlock his hand with joe’s, which he immediately puts the bass down and moves closer to do. “what are you up to?”

“still trying to become a musical prodigy..” pete replies, “i don’t think it’s going so great… maybe you could help me out?” he asks with a slight smile. “you’re really good at bass and stuff, i think you should have been a rockstar.”

“you’re doing great..” joe says, seemingly distracted, “but yeah, we can later.” pete picks up on joe’s out of character tone and raises an eyebrow. there’s really no telling what joe has been out doing- he hasn’t really seen him all that much since yesterday. sometimes it really hits that pete hardly knows all of the things that joe does with his time, or all of the people that he hangs out with.

“you okay?” he asks, putting on his best ‘concerned boyfriend’ face as he waits patiently for an answer in hopes that it isn’t anything too bad. joe just groans in response and takes his hand back, using it to rub his eye. pete brings his knees up to his chest and tilts his head.

“i-” joe starts, but stops right before the next word spills out and looks away from pete. “yeah, i’m just tired..” he sits up and buries his face in his hands before looking at pete again. “um... could you just, like, hold me for a few minutes?” he asks nervously, as if pete would say no. 

“what? dude, of course.. why didn’t you just say so earlier?” pete gets up off of the floor and moves onto the couch, pulling joe into his arms as he gets seated. joe falls into pete’s embrace, leaving the shorter boy to wonder why he’s in such a vulnerable state right now. but he isn’t going to complain.

/ 

pete wonders if he can get away with using one of the very sharp tools in the cabinet above the paramedic's head to slit his throat before she notices.


	2. chapter two

they pull joe into the emergency room in a heavy downpour. pete shivers when a leak in the ambulance entrance awning allows rain to drip onto his shoulder. 

male, nineteen, head injury, unconscious.

pete knows exactly why joe hit his head, but he's too scared to say something. he knows he really should- it's vital to joe's treatment. but right now he can't see himself saying anything that makes sense.. the hospital people are smart, though- they'll figure it out. it's fine. everything is fine. 

"okay." pete sighs to himself, "okay, breathe." normally he would allow himself to freak out. but this isn't about him right now. 

/  
joe knows that something's up when pete stops screaming and crying in his bedroom after their latest argument. he knows that he shouldn't have yelled at pete and said the shit he said, and he knows that he shouldn't have slammed the door shut when pete threw himself on the bed and broke down. but he was frankly tired of even talking.

it had to be their third fight this week- pete should be used to it by now, he should know that joe knows exactly what to say and how to hurt him. pointing out his flaws, bringing up shit that pete has done and would rather forget. but for some reason this time was the breaking point. maybe it was because he had a hard day at work- slaving away at borders, selling music to pretentious hipsters. or maybe it was the realization that whatever he has going on with joe just isn't going to work out. whatever the case, he's lost it. completely lost it. like, slinging open the bathroom cabinet and pulling out a razor lost it. 

in a fit of rage, he pushes it down and slices the soft tan skin up his arm over and over, getting deeper as he goes. he bites his lip and stops crying, only heavy breathing and a temporary sense of relief until it starts to hurt. like, really hurt. and the blood is gushing out faster than usual, but he can't be bothered to get up and stop it. why would he? he can finally feel something besides anger and sadness. 

but now it won't stop, and he's laying in bed wondering how long it is until he starts to get lightheaded. is this it? he considers letting himself pass out. just to make joe feel bad for what he said- how he always wants to bring up the fact that pete let go of his band and other musical projects to live a normal life with a normal job. joe just doesn't understand.

"pete?" joe sounds like a completely different person than he did earlier as he opens the bedroom door- less aggressive, more caring and gentle. "i'm sorry." he says, as he does almost every single day at this point. pete stays quiet. he stares up at the ceiling. he doesn't even want to look at joe. well. he thought that he didn't. that is, until he realizes that he may have to. "i'm about to head out..” he looks over at the red mess that is pete's left arm like the blood that made an appearance this morning when joe was throwing up breakfast. he's so desensitized to it at this point. "do you need help cleaning up?" pete tries to keep his silence, but struggles to. he realizes that joe probably isn’t going to actually leave until he says something. he’s weird like that.

“um..” pete sits up, revealing just how much blood he’s currently losing. “i think i fucked up.” he finally says, looking over at joe, who just nods.

“i’ll go grab a towel. do you think you might need to go get it stitched up?” joe asks, heading into the bathroom to look for one. he knows he’ll probably have to go out and look for bandages because regular bandaids just won’t do the trick this time, so for now he figures he can just apply pressure to control the bleeding.

“i-i don’t know.. i mean, i’m used to this, but it’s really deep this time.” pete replies, staring at his arm still. if he had any more tears left to shed for today he’d probably start crying again. “it really hurts now.”

the energy in the room has definitely shifted. when joe comes back with the towel he wraps it around pete’s arm and then pulls him into a tight embrace, ignoring the fact that he’s sitting on a wet blood stain on the bed. “i’m so sorry.. i love you,” he says, “come on. we’ll fix this. it’s okay, i promise...” pete nods and leans into joe, who’s applying pressure onto his arm with the towel. he can’t think of anything else in this moment except for his boyfriend’s heartbeat, hoping that maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay.

/

joe gets put in a room, and the nurses begin asking pete the same questions that the paramedics had asked him when they first got to joe’s apartment. he bites his lip and lies through it all, saying he doesn’t know anything until he finally decides he can’t anymore. on the last question, he confesses everything that he knows and almost breaks down crying again in the process. it’s ugly, it’s not the best love story in the world, but it’s what really happened.

“it’s all my fault.” pete says through tears, “it’s my fault that he’s in here. you should have me arrested.” the nurse shakes her head and thanks him for his honesty. he watches her leave and then goes over to sit in the chair in the corner to watch a still unconscious joe get pricked with needles and hooked up to weird machines that like to beep. it’s overwhelming and reminds him of his own hospital stay. he wonders how they managed to end up here again. 

pete wipes his eyes with his sleeve and hugs himself for warmth. joe suddenly looks so fragile laying there, his dark curls almost covering his closed eyes as the fluorescent lighting of the emergency room reflects off of his metal lip ring. he gets up and goes over to him to take it out; just because. just to make himself face what he did in real time. he feels one-hundred percent guilty for it. 

“maybe this wouldn’t have happened if i had never came into your life. maybe you be alright. maybe you wouldn’t have let your eating disorder spiral out of control the way that it has been lately.. it’s hard to watch. but i can't tell anyone. it's like a secret that only i’m is allowed to know- not even patrick, not even your parents, not even andy. and especially not your little brother.”

that reminds him; he needs to call joe's family. but how is he supposed to tell them that their son tried to kill himself over something that he did? 

/ 

"hey." pete says as he slides into the passenger seat of joe's hand-me-down saturn that has definitely seen better days from when it was the trohmans' family car. he has a backpack in his arms; it's packed with a few changes of clothes that pete's mom had brought him a week ago when he was admitted to the psych ward after an anxiety-ridden suicide attempt. "thanks for picking me up."

"hi." joe says, "no problem, panda. you know i'd do anything for you." he says softly, putting his clutch in drive. "do you need to stop anywhere? oh, and by the way, you can just sit that in the back floorboard… but watch out." he gestures towards the back, causing pete to look in the backseat to find some kid passed out. 

"um… who's that?" pete asks, "is he dead?" joe laughs at the assumption as pete carefully lets his backpack fall into the floorboard. 

"that's sam, my little brother. i think i've mentioned him before." joe explains, "we got suuuper drunk last night and he's hungover at shit." the boy smirks as he pulls out of the parkinglot, "it was so funny, it was his first time actually getting pissed and he was rolling around saying dumbass shit. then he puked in my kitchen sink.. but don't tell my parents any of that." 

"ah." pete nods, the tales of sam's antics bringing a smile to his face, which joe immediately notices and lets out a sigh of relief. "uhh, i'm alright. i had breakfast before you come got me. it's not that bad." 

“okay.” joe replies, “should i just drop you off at home, then? or with your parents?” he asks. “i gotta get sam home and then i might be back over after i take a nap.” might? pete leans over the armrest and onto joe’s shoulder. 

he doesn’t say anything in response- he told himself he wouldn’t ask pete any questions about the recent incident until pete brought it up himself. 

“no, i wanna go watch you take a nap.” pete insists. “maybe take a nap with you.” that does sound nice. catching up can probably wait. joe just knows that he’s been up for 24 hours straight and he’s about ready to crash. pete can see it in his eyes. “i missed your body up against me.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. i missed you.”

/  
“i love you.” pete stares at the piece of metal jewelry between his shaky fingers, debating whether or not he should pick up the phone and get this over with, or if he should just wait it out until after joe gets out of the hospital, or at least he knows what’s going on. it’ll all be okay, right? pete’s just being dramatic, right?... he looks at the heart monitor to his right as it starts to change. he doesn’t know what that means, but it doesn’t look good. it’s slowing down. it’s starting to beep at faster intervals. 

he drops the lip ring and runs out the door to get help. because now it’s beeping uncontrollably, and he’s watched enough tv shows and movies to know what it means.

it means that we have a problem.


	3. chapter three

“why does everything have to be a secret with you?.” pete asks, arms crossed as he leans against the doorway of joe’s bathroom, ashamedly furious at his boyfriend who’s sitting on the floor after forcing himself to puke up every single calorie that he just consumed, resting the side of his head on the toilet seat. his throat burns, the room is spinning right now, and he can’t exactly remember what it was that he did this time, but he’s sure that pete’s about to bring it up. he always does when none of joe's roommates are around. and lately, it's been quiet. one's visiting his grandma, and they haven't seen the other in a week. 

“um.. i guess i don’t need the world to know every little bit of my private life like you do.” joe replies. “the fuck are you on now?” pete rolls his eyes. just because he posts constantly on livejournal and has a decent following doesn’t exactly mean he’s ‘letting the world know about his life’. 

“i have to vent to someone, and you’re never around.” he defends, “and that’s what i’m talking about. you won’t answer my calls or texts for days, and then you wanna come crawling back to me when you need someone to keep you warm at night.” joe pulls his head up and leans against the wall, sighing as he runs a hand through his hair that’s starting to fall out a lot more than he’d like to admit. pete doesn’t even try to comfort or console him anymore- but he can’t say that he blames him. he’s been thinking about how pete would definitely be better off without him lately.

“you just don’t let up, do you?” joe asks retorically, “fuck, give me a fucking break. i’m up all night writing articles for a magazine that’s going to reject them and demand i fix everything about them, my parents are constantly on my ass for not coming home, my friends wonder why i don’t hang out with them anymore.. ugh!” he covers his face, not even wanting to think about the stress that’s going on right now. “just because you took my virginity doesn’t mean that my whole world revolves around you.” pete unfolds his arms, slightly taken aback. the shit that’s said during their arguments never fails to surprise him.

“but you said you would always be there for me! i thought we were in this together! but i don’t even know who you are! you aren’t just some piece of jailbait to me that was one and done. and you know this.” pete makes a point- and joe hates it. but he also realizes that he probably sounds like he doesn’t love pete, which isn’t true. he loves him way more than he’d like to admit.

“not what i said.” he states before a strong wave of nausea leads him to dry heave into the toilet in front of him. it’s fucked up how he still ends up retching without trying. and not to mention the acid reflux. pete would be lying if he said he didn’t feel awful for him, or that he said he didn’t feel at least a little guilty in being a catalyst in joe’s bulimia getting to this point. it looks and sounds nothing short of painful, and he definitely understands how your own brain can fuck you up to the point where you can’t stop doing it no matter how bad you know it is. but he's mad- furious, even. and he doesn't know why he always lashes out on the ones that he loves, but he does. 

“i wish i had never fucking met you!!” pete yells in a spur of the moment. it comes out wrong. that’s not exactly what he meant. but the combination of fear, anger and heartache made it sound that way. “why the fuck did you have to talk to me that night?! why didn’t you just leave me alone?” as soon as joe can pull himself off of the floor, he grabs the nearest object to him- an empty soap bottle and throws it as hard as he can towards pete’s head. but luckily, his boyfriend is on his best game today and manages to move out of the way. 

“i wish the fucking same!” he yells manically. after dodging the soap bottle, pete can’t do anything but stand still. joe brushes past him and heads towards his living room. maybe it’s time for him to go.

when pete finally got himself to move and leave joe’s apartment, he thought that was the end of the argument. he goes to his parents’ house to recollect himself and think of how he was going to apologise this time- because it’s his turn. and he feels like he’s done the most damage today. he has to fix this, but he decides to give it time. so they can talk; level-headed and calm.

joe lays on his couch and watches mission hill reruns for an hour. he doesn’t move. he doesn’t even think. 

until he does. he thinks about what pete said. infact, he would take it as far as wishing he was never born. maybe that’s a better idea. it isn’t like this has never crossed his mind before. but this time he has to think about all of the hell that he's put pete through. he’s awful and vindictive, completely unaware of it until he’s too late. the compulsive lying, the constant arguing. he knows that he can’t continue doing this shit. but he also can’t imagine his life without pete.

the clock reads 11:11. joe buries his face in a pillow on his couch and starts sobbing- screaming at one point. it all hurts- his head aches from dehydration, his throat burns from the constant puking. his whole body is just tired of this shit. 

in the midst of screaming and crying, he realizes something- there's a whole bottle of xanax under his bed from when his mom had forced him to talk to his doctor about his panic attacks. panic attacks that pete would never see. but he never took them- he didn't think he needed to. 

if he can remember correctly, there's still a bottle of vicodin in the kitchen. he doesn't remember why. maybe it was chris'. 

and just like that, he stops crying.

within minutes, he's shoving vicodin down his throat and washing it down straight from a bottle of fireball. he's quick to follow up with a handful of the xanax- 'for good measure' he tells himself. 

it's liberating. it's freeing. he's not even thinking about the afterlife or anything of that nature- all he knows is that it's finally going to end.

before he starts feeling the effects, (or it starts coming back up), he's quick to pick up the phone and star sixty-seven pete. to say goodbye.

pete answers. freezing cold on his mom's porch, smoking a cigarette and still contemplating his next move as rain pours down outside. he doesn't know that it's joe at first, so he answers with an uncertain "hello?". 

"hi, pete!" joe replies, concerningly bubbly. "i didn't want you to know that it was me, so i blocked out my number." pete scoffs. 'incredibly childish', he thinks.

"why the fuck are you so happy?" he asks. seriously. why? if only he knew. "what is it now? are you seeing someone else?" pete's re-pissed off. it's annoying. he’s annoyed.

"i just wanted you to know that i won't be a problem for you anymore." joe can already feel the pills try to come back up, but he forces himself to swallow them back down. it's bitter, but it has to work. is this a joke? seriously? "i've decided to kill myself! and i'm fucking happy! and i hope you’ll finally have some peace in your life ‘cause i won’t be around anymore to cause your living hell." joe's manic- and pete knows this all too well. still, he can't hold back from saying something he'll regret. 

"you know what? go on!" he yells, causing his dad to look out the window. he doesn't even realize what he's saying, he's caught up in the emotion and anger that he still has. "drink a little more, or cut a little deeper. however the fuck you're going, make it count." 

"thanks. fuck you." joe hangs up and throws his phone across his apartment. it hits his refrigerator and ricochets off onto the kitchen floor. the screen cracks, but it looks fine otherwise. not like it's going to matter. 

he turns on his CD player and turns the volume up on high. it's metallica's reload album. fuel starts playing. he starts to scream along and continue trying not to throw up the pills until he can't anymore, falling on his knees and retching up a concoction of thick bile and as many pills as his body can possibly get rid of onto the dingey carpet.

when he stands up, the room is spinning way too fast for his legs to keep up, but nevertheless he tries to make it back over to the couch until his knees give out, sending him face first onto the floor. he's pretty sure he hits his head on the side table on the way down, but he can't feel shit anymore. 

pete continues to sit where he is, knees up to his chest, finding it hard to believe that joe would actually go through with suicide. that's not his style. or at least, pete didn't think it was. the thought becomes more plausible as the minutes go by, though, and he eventually brings himself to try and call joe back. 

no answer.

"please let this be some sick fucking joke." he huffs, nine-one-one being his next call. just in case. the operator picks up on the first two rings. 

"nine-one-one, what's your emergency?" he asks. his voice is calm, as pete assumes it has to be. he still doesn't believe that this is all actually happening, so he tries to sound just as level-headed as the operator. 

"hi.. i need an ambulance at 413 ridler street in wilmette, illinois. apartment 173. i think my boyfriend is attempting suicide." he replies. the operator pulls up his map and sends an ambulance. 

"they're en route. it should be around 15 minutes. are you there with him? is he breathing?" the operator starts asking questions that pete can't answer. maybe he should go over there. 

"no. i don't know. i'll head over, i'll probably be there before the ambulance. should i stay on the line?" the operator doesn't respond for a minute, probably trying to figure out how to respond. 

"Um, yeah, what's your name? mine's sidney." pete appreciates the gesture and attempt to make it more personal, but it's still not registering in his brain that his boyfriend is potentially unconscious on his apartment floor. 

he is. but that’s besides the point.

“okay, sidney. i’m pete.” he says, digging his keys out of his pocket. “my boyfriend’s name is joe. i don’t know what’s going on right now, but i fucked up.”

/

“he was just laying there.” pete explains through tears to a nurse who's trying to pry more information out of him. “he... he was blee-eeding, i-i thought he was de-ead, i didn’t know if i-i sh-should have moved him or not.." he wipes his tears again with his sleeve and sighs, finally getting around to the question he was asked earlier. "i.. i don't know much more. he's bulimic, he drinks a lot… if he has any other health problems, he’s never mentioned them to me.” he feels like he’s letting everyone down- unable to really answer questions, unable to be there for his boyfriend who’s surrounded by doctors and nurses and technicians. he wishes he could call somebody- but he knows that he’s going to get yelled at. and despite knowing that he deserves it, he can’t deal with it right now.

“alright, honey.” the nurse says. she’s a soft-spoken older woman, likely in her mid to late fifties. she’s been trying to calm pete down and assure him that it isn’t all his fault- she feels like an angel sent on this earth to pete. but he doesn’t feel like he deserves her. “so, the main reason i just wanted to ask was because we suspect that he has some internal bleeding going on, and the medication that we know was taken aren’t commonly associated with it.” she explains. pete nods. 

“what does this all mean?” he asks, “i mean, i know what that means but.. what’s going to happen?” his voice cracks at the last two vowels. “is-is he… is he gonna ac-actually d-d-die?” he can’t breathe. the walls are closing in. he can’t believe he’s actually having to ask that question. the nurse sitting next to him is quick to answer. 

“i don’t know, i’m so sorry. we’re doing everything we can right now.. we might go ahead and put him in a coma for a couple of weeks so that his body has time to start healing from this,” a coma? like what happens to people in soap operas? “but we do need someone to sign off on that decision since he is unable..” pete nods, tears still streaming down his face. 

“i-i’m not the one to make that decision.” he once more wipes his tears away with his sleeves and bites his lip. the nurse nods in agreement, her name she had stated earlier, but pete’s not good with those kinds of things at a time like this. “i-i-i co-could give you hi-his parents’ la-andline.” he offers, pulling his phone out of his back pocket, fingers shaking as he tries to find his contacts. “c-c-could you..”

“..call them for you?” she finishes in a still patient manner, which pete mouths ‘yes’ to and hands her his phone that’s opened on joe’s parents’ contact with shaking hands. "okay, honey. i'll bring you your phone back in a minute, i'm going to go call them from the department phone." 

"thank you." pete says, taking a deep breath. he needs a minute to process what's even going on. it's hard.


	4. chapter four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i know my writing follows a confusing narrative. i don't really care though

darkness, inability to relay your surroundings, the feeling that there's just a whole lot going on right now. 

that's what's going on with joe- he knows he isn't allowed to go back to the world of the conscious yet. maybe he doesn't want to. maybe it's easier to stay in the dark. but if he does ever wake up, he knows that he needs to apologize to pete.

/   
amber eyes and choppy dark hair, tan skin tastefully riddled with tattoos. pete glows in a beam of sunlight, climbing through the sheets and on top of joe. 

"hi." joe smiles as pete pins his wrists above his head and presses his lips against his. "oh?" he grins in between kisses, giving into whatever pete's doing. 

"how'd you sleep?" pete asks once he lets go of joe's wrists and rolls over next to him. "you were out by eleven. that's unusual for you." he states, tapping joe's lip ring. 

"good, i guess." he replies, rubbing his right eye. "you?" joe then asks. he knows it isn't always easy for pete to fall asleep, unlike himself who could probably fall asleep anywhere if he so wanted to. 

"good. better 'cause i slept with you." he smiles. joe isn't quite sure why pete's being so lovey this morning, but he isn't going to complain. "it's eight thirty, by the way. do you have to go in today?

"yeah, at ten. i just have some editing to do, really. i'll probably be off by three." pete very noticeably smiles when he hears that. "what?" joe asks, "what is that supposed to mean?" 

"it means that we have time." pete states. joe knows what he means, but he furrows his eyebrows and gives pete a playful shove. 

"why do you wanna fuck me? i just woke up, my face is fuckin' swollen like a pufferfish, i look terrible." at that, pete whines, biting his lip and giving joe his best begging face. joe rolls his eyes and pulls the covers over his head.

"i like the way you look in the morning. and the afternoon. and at night…." pete stares off into space as he thinks of sweet nothings to coo into joe's ear. realizing he's probably distracted, joe takes advantage of this and jumps up suddenly, pulling pete under the covers as he does so. pete lets out some sort of yelp that turns into laughing as he starts hitting his boyfriend. "not funny!" he yells.

"you're laughing!" joe replies. 

“i hate you.” pete smirks, once again pressing his lips against joe’s to counteract what he just said. joe runs a hand through pete’s hair. this moment is everything, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget it. it’s so domestic, but hails as one of their most tender moments. he wants to cry thinking about it. maybe it’s because pete was his first that he holds such strong feelings towards any thought of him. but that’s the way it’s always been for him. 

/

joe feels like he’s been trying to wake up for his entire life. there’s noises and sounds going on around him, but he can’t quite tell if they’re real. he’s felt someone touch him several times- he’s even felt needles being shoved into his arms. it only kind of hurts.

“have you been here all night?” chris asks pete, entering joe’s hospital room. he’s sort of taken aback by all of the wires and tubes attached to his best friend who had been perfectly healthy the morning before. pete sort of filled him in on the phone, and he had talked to joe’s mom in the hallway when he got here- but it’s still sort of shocking.

“yeah.” pete replies, his fingers intertwined with joe’s. chris sighs and crosses his arms. he doesn’t even want to know what happened between them this time around- pete didn’t get into it. he just said that he had made a mistake and hopes to get the chance to fix it. it terrifies chris to hear pete talk about joe as if there’s a possibly he won’t make it- but he can sort of see why.

he’s heavily sedated- a medically-induced coma, the doctors say. his chart reads a mile long and chris can only roughly translate it all into “there’s several wires loose”. andy came by earlier, and patrick promised to stop by after work. it’s so weird.

/

a hospital gown and a big bright golden light above his head- pete feels like he’s being interrogated by the fbi or something, squirming around on a cold table, threatening to leave or break the glass doors, desperate to get out of this situation. for the past several days, the world has felt like it’s been moving too slow for his brain. it’s been racing, even too fast for himself to keep up. he can’t sleep. he can hardly stay still. all he remembers is that he took a bunch of pills. and now he’s here. joe said they had to pump his stomach. his mother is crying outside of the hospital room. everyone seems like an enemy right now. they said he would have to stay for at least seventy-two hours and he just doesn’t think he can do that.

“joe. come on. tell them to let me leave.” he begs, looking over at his boyfriend who starts to walk over, his arms crossed.

“i can’t do anything, panda, i’m kinda powerless right now.” joe replies, putting his hand on pete’s shoulder. “they’re gonna help you calm down and i’ll be right here when you get back.” pete takes joe’s hand off of his shoulder and slaps it away. joe steps back and looks at him like a frightened puppy.   
“i don’t want to calm down anymore!” he exclaims. “i wanna go home, i wanna cry in peace in my own home! just let me do that!”

“i can’t do anything!” joe replies, “i’m sorry! i’m so sorry!” pete stares at him, feeling a tear start to stream down his face. and then another. he hugs himself and starts crying. this is all so terrifying to him. it’s cold and he won’t be going home with joe tonight. he doesn’t want to stay any longer. he wishes he had never taken those pills to warrant being here. he’s mad at joe for bringing him here, first of all- maybe if he had left him alone this wouldn’t currently be a problem for them. he’d hope to be dead- or at least unconscious. but he’s even more pissed off at himself for letting it get to this point- for allowing himself to let skipping his medication become such a habit.

“mr wentz?” a woman asks as she slides the door open and then slides it back, locking it behind her. she does it in a way that makes it noticeable; as if she wants him to know that they think he’s fucking insane. “do you mind if i ask you a few questions before we head on upstairs?”

“could you just give him like, a fucking minute?!” joe outbursts. it’s sudden. it startles everyone in the room including himself- but it buys pete some time, and stops his crying all at once.

“i’ll be back in a fifteen minutes..” she replies rudely, mirroring joe’s attitude before she turns around and leaves the room. pete once again looks up at his boyfriend with teary eyes. 

“i know this sucks. and i know that you’re mad at me. but i had to like, do something.” joe states. “you’re gonna’ get through this, okay?” pete doesn’t reply. he falls back on the table and stares up at the ceiling. “i’ll call you whenever they let me. do you wanna see your parents before you go?”

“i really don’t even want to see you right now.” pete replies. he knows he probably shouldn’t have said that- and he really could use the company of his parents, but he’s kind of just mad at everything right now and that’s not going to change for a while. 

“okay.” 

/

“what’s that for?” joe hears his mother’s voice ask as his eyelids are pried open one by one so that the doctor can shine a light in his eyes. it’s bright and sort of stings, but he can’t really articulate a reaction to give. his brain tunes back out when they start going on about how it’s, like, for his pupils or something to see if he’s where he should be. or something. it doesn’t interest him nearly as much as feeling a hand stroking his cheek that takes him back to being a child, tired and feverish as his mom would comfort him and sing him her favorite songs. back when there wasn’t so much to have to hide from her. it kind of breaks his heart that there’s so much about him that she doesn’t really know. it’s not like there’s an easy way to tell a parent that the sweet child that they raised and nurtured is a borderline alcoholic who has also followed a viscous cycle of binging and purging patterns that have led to internal damage. but he’d be lying if he said that it wasn’t something he constantly thought about every night while eating junk food in a closet and forcing himself to throw it right back up before it could stick. but teenage boys are just naturally that skinny, right? and that bottle of gin under that faulty floorboard in the attic of his childhood home couldn’t have been anything more than a phase. he prayed that’s what they thought. they couldn’t find out. they didn’t know about the drugs or his relationship or the voices in his head that dragged on with the same narrative. but they must know something now. just someone else he has to apologize to whenever he breaks free from this. whatever this is.


	5. chapter five

rain is pouring down outside. it’s already knocked adam and chris out, as adam is asleep on the couch across from joe, and chris in his bedroom. it’s cold. joe chews on his pencil and stares at the notebook in front of him, not reading it, just resting his eyes there. he’s been sitting in this dysfunctional recliner trying to come up with a good article corresponding to an interview he recently did with local band june. it isn’t coming easy, though, and he’s been sitting there for the past several hours, hardly moving. 

he looks at his watch. it’s six thirty. when did it get so late? he soon starts to think about how he hasn’t talked to pete all day. actually, it’s been two days. two days since the last time pete had called him. and that’s unusual. something isn’t right.

he puts the notebook down and grabs his keys. it’s a blackout from his apartment to pete’s. there’s a redlight or two, and he remembers being so cold that he has to turn the heat on, but that’s about it. the radio wasn’t playing. or was it? wait, yeah, it was. because that one song that pete liked was on.

the second that joe puts his car in park he gets out and runs up the soaking wet stairs. he can see his breath, and he himself is totally soaked by time he gets to the door- but it’s fine. 

he jams the spare key that pete had given him into the lock and walks into the apartment. it’s dark.

“hello?” he asks, walking towards pete’s room. come to think of it, did he even see pete’s car in the driveway?

he hears a sniffle. that’s totally pete.

“hey.” 

pete’s staring up at the ceiling, tears streaming down his face, eyeliner staining his pillowcase. joe knows this situation all too well, it’s not the first time. he knows that pete has definitely been like this for the past two days that he hasn’t called or seen him. he doesn’t speak, but when joe turns the light on in his room and crawls over into bed next to him, he turns to face him.

“i know you don’t want to, but you’re gonna take a bath. and then you’re gonna eat because i know you haven’t done either of those things in two days.” joe says. he knows when to take control- and he also knows when to step back. but right now is not that time; because pete definitely hasn’t taken his medication in at least two days either. 

pete doesn’t argue- he’s too tired to put up a fight at this point and just nods. he knows that joe is definitely going to take care of him- and that thought alone makes him tear up again.

“we’re also gonna’ get that makeup removed ‘cause i don’t want it getting in your eyes and burning.” joe gets up and heads to the bathroom to start the water. pete definitely prefers bubble baths, so he starts to look around for something he could use to make one. 

pete must have fallen asleep for a minute or two, because when he opens his eyes again, joe is sitting on his bed with makeup wipes, wiping the eyeliner away from his eyes. he looks up at joe with a dirty look, to which the younger of the two rolls his eyes at and continues doing it.

“told you we had to take this off.” joe insists. pete decides to just let him. 

next it’s joe carrying pete to the bathroom bridal style and undressing him. he knows this routine all too well and just lets joe do the work despite probably being capable of doing it himself. it feels nice to be cared for so much, admittedly. or whatever joe calls himself doing. 

the bath water is nice- it’s literally the perfect temperature. it’s hard for pete to brood when someone’s gently bringing a warm wash cloth to his skin. joe can be so soft when he wants to be. pete thinks that maybe he should spiral into depression more often.

\- - - - - -

“am i doing this right?” pete asks as he does just that, washing his boyfriend’s broken out face with a warm wash cloth, the same way that joe would always do for him when he was just too down to do it himself. the nurses said that it’s normal to break out in acne with some of the steroids and other medications that they have joe on. 

“dude, how can you fuck up washing someone’s face?” tim asks, “you’re definitely doing it more than he ever did.” he jokes. pete fakes a smile and dips the wash cloth back in the warm bucket of water next to him.

“i meant the whole.. loving partner thing.” he says. tim shrugs. 

“i don’t really know. i think it’s more of like, a thing where it’s situational or whatever.” he replies. just as he does, andy comes in with coffee that’s not the weak hospital shit that pete has had to drink for the past week.

“hey guys.” andy says, placing one of the coffee cups next to pete on the little rolling table and then handing tim another. "i brought lattes. they're all soy because tim and i are vegan and i was too lazy to order anything else."

“you’re my hero, andy hurley.” pete laughs, taking the latte into his free hand. "i kinda want to pop his zits." he then states. tim rolls his eyes.

"i literally hate you." he says, "i don't think they'd let you do that." andy just shrugs and takes a sip of his soy latte. knowing joe, he'd probably want him to. 

"joe's dad said they're gonna' start lowering the dosage on his iv next week." andy says, "what do you guys think he's gonna say when he wakes up?" pete looks at his boyfriend sadly. he's afraid it's going to be something about how much he hates him. he regrets not sitting on that bathroom floor with him and discussing his problems like an adult. tim snickers because it was a joke, and he has no idea just how awful pete and joe have been to each other. or how much hell he's going through right now. but why would he?

"probably something like 'where's my weed, dude?'" tim says. andy laughs and looks over at pete, waiting for his guess. pete looks up at him with tears in his eyes. 

"pete?" andy asks, "you alright?" the dark-haired man shakes his head and puts the washcloth back in the bucket of water. he can't do this right now. 

"i gotta go." he says, "thanks for the coffee, andy, i-i'll pay you back." with that he speeds out of the room, wiping his tears away with his sleeve. tim and andy look at each other and then over at joe. 

/ 

pete starts sobbing before he gets to his car. it's too much to think about. just because it's been over a week doesn't mean that joe has forgotten. pete hopes he does, but it's unlikely. joe remembers shit like that. even in his worst state. it's like a curse. 

but now pete feels alone, with no one to talk to. the only person who could seem to handle the full scope of his insanity was joe. he doesn't have that right now. it's lonely. he can't breathe. the weight of everything starts to crush him into a puddle of sad, angry goo.


	6. chapter six

i remember the first time that you made me cry. it was mid january. i was so mad at you in that moment and hated your guts so much for what you said that i never took a second to think about if it was actually true or not. and the funny thing is, i don’t even remember what it was. but i left your apartment in tears and almost crashed my car on the freeway, blasting that stupid fucking deftones cd that you had left in my player. i fucking hated them in that moment. i hated you.

you always knew exactly what to say to push my buttons- it’s fucking insane. you’re so much smarter than i gave you credit for, so much more conniving and clever than i would have guessed and even sneakier than most other teenagers i knew. or myself. 

i remember shredding that debit card i used to use to buy your fucking alcohol with a pair of kitchen scissors. i didn’t think it through. i also knew you’d just ask chris or someone else. 

and i’d never thrown myself so dramatically across a stained mattress and screamed my heart out. that’s what i do remember. years of screaming in a metal band had taken a major toll on my voice, and of course i never did it properly. i never do anything properly- neither do you. that’s always been our style.

i think that’s the day i realized just how fucked up you were as well, when i wouldn’t let you into my apartment so you went around the building and fucking climbed up to my window. the people below me must have thought you were absolutely insane. you are. i wanted to shove you back down, but i couldn’t bring myself to as i admired how hard you worked to get up there. 

we couldn’t help it, we couldn’t hold back. you were in my bed in no time, reminding me just how good i am at that. they say i only think in the form of numbers crunching, sprawled out in hotel rooms, collecting lovers. i really am good at that...

“.....but i’m not good at loving you.” pete says, joe’s hand in his as he stares at the sleeping boy in a dim-lit hospital room. it’s become the new normal for pete to sit and vent to him- just like he did when joe was awake. this time, only, he can’t judge or put him in his place. It’s weird. “i’m not good at loving anyone, even myself. i’ve never been a kind, loving or even a good person.” he says, “but i think you are, despite what i may have said to you. i think you’re a good person, you just… you have some issues you need to work on.” they let go of his hand and lay on the floor next to his bed, “we both need to work on our issues. whether that be apart or together. i don’t know what’s coming next. but either way, you need to pull through to be able to see it. i know you probably hate me. i know you’re probably going to be fucking seething when you wake up.. but i’ve come to accept that. i think. maybe.” 

/ 

joe isn’t entirely sure how long he’s been laying here. it’s been a while, he knows. sometimes he can hear the people around him and make observations to himself. sometimes he can’t, and he’s off somewhere else in his memory. the one that’s been playing in his head the most lately; one of his favorite memories of pete. it was back around when they first met, and he was freezing cold at an arma show he had went to. it wasn’t even that cold of a night.. that’s probably when he really started to realize the effect that his eating disorder was taking on his body. pete comes over, all sweaty and smiling. his teeth are so perfect to joe, his canines almost as sharp as a vampire’s. pete wraps his arms around joe and rests his head on his shoulder, and joe is quick to accept the extra body heat that’s come into his orbit. they don’t speak for a few minutes, staying interlocked in eachothers’ embrace. joe would probably give anything to be in that moment again.

“you killed it tonight, petey.” joe finally says, his chin atop of pete’s head. “you always do.” pete laughs, shining those sharp teeth that joe so rightfully adores. 

“wanna walk back to my apartment together?” pete asks, “the guys are heading to the bar.. i thought going and taking you with, but.. we’re not really out as a couple yet so i didn’t want to put you in that sort of position, y’know?” he bites his lip. “unless you want to.” joe shrugs. he’s not in the mood for a social gathering right now. he just wants pete. 

“you can go if you want.” he says, “i don’t care, you know where i’ll be. i’ll leave the door unlocked.” joe greatly appreciates the way that pete seems to care so much for his safety. he’s not a local celebrity the way that pete is- he just edits magazine articles, and no one ever pays attention to who does that. he makes zines, but hardly any one remembers his face. he likes it that way.

“no, idiot.” pete says, pulling away from joe’s embrace and taking both of joe’s hands into his own. “i want to be with you.” he stares into the other’s eyes, all loving and sweet. “...and i really want to take a shower.” he trails off, “but mostly you!” joe can’t help but laugh. neither of them are romantic at all, but that’s fine. he just likes being in pete’s arms or whatever. and it’s the way that pete implied he’d be an idiot if he didn’t realize how much he liked him. it really stuck. he thinks about it all the time and it’s the reason he goes back after every fight and holds onto the relationship for dear life.

/ 

pete gets up off of the floor and rests his chin on the railing of joe’s bed. the wound where he had busted his head open on the table in his living room is healing, and there’s still a bruise right above his left eyebrow, but it could be worse. while the noise of other icu rooms puts him at unease, he can’t imagine leaving joe’s side for too long.


End file.
